


Meet in the Middle

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Manga Spoilers, Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: “Why do you think he wanted ya there, Osamu?”“So he could show off, obviously!”“We-ell, there is that, but maybe there’s another couple o’ reasons.”“Company, you mean.” He shrugged aware he looked sheepish. “I guess. He don’t like bein’ alone. Never has.”“Company, moral support, call it what ya will,” Kita replied. “But also …” Tilting his head to the side, he fixed Osamu with his headlight beam of an interrogatory stare. “Osamu, have the pair of ya ever celebrated yer birthday apart?”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 38
Kudos: 196





	Meet in the Middle

**Author's Note:**

> I started this on the twins' birthday, thinking I could finish it in a day, but of course it spiralled!

“IT AIN’T MY FAULT!”

“DID I SAY IT WAS?”

“NO BUT YER LOOKIN’ AT ME ALL ACCUSIN’!”

“I’M JUS’ LOOKIN’.” Realising he still had a knife in his hand, Osamu placed it back on the chopping board, and stared at the stinging imprint in his palm. “I ain’t accusin’ you of anythin’, ‘Tsumu. It jus’ kinda sucks that’s all.”

“Yeah…” Unfurling his scowl a little, Atsumu stopped leaning on the counter and let out a hefty sigh. “But… you could come with me.”

He closed his eyes, weary again at how his brother refused to stop this endless circle running. “I’ve told ya I can’t. I have to stay here.”

“It might jus’ be a PR crap to you but this is my future!”

“Did I say it was crap?” Osamu muttered, gritting his teeth to stop a resurgence of fury rage through his voice.

“You implied!”

“You do you!” Osamu retorted and turned his back. “Jus’ don’t expect me t’ follow yer every move, scrub!”

“But it’s … Gah, what’s the point? You never fuckin’ listen.”

Refusing to turn around, Osamu heard the door slam, but the tension in his shoulders hadn’t left as swiftly as his brother. He picked up the knife, chopping each carrot into pieces so small it was as if he’d grated them.

***

Getting back to his flat, Atsumu closed the door with a bang, and without taking his shoes off picked up one of the bags in the hallway. Something rustled in his inside jacket pocket and he scowled, fished out an envelope, then screwing it up he threw it at the bin. He missed. Normally he’d try again, maybe turn it into a competition, but too mad with his twin, he left without picking it up.

He’d not even discussed it. Just said no outright. And the way he’d frickin’ looked at him. As if the whole trip were a joke and somethin’ Atsumu hadn’t thought through. That had stung.

‘K so ‘Samu was the one who had the business brain, but Atsumu weren’t exactly lackin’!

The bus to Osaka would get him in earlier than planned, but then he could waste an hour in a bar catch up on texts ‘n stuff, maybe even read a newspaper and not just the sports page. With a plan in his mind it was easy to skirt around the issue, and after a beer he could ignore it altogether—or at least not mull over it and make himself mad all over again.

_That’s what happens when yer try t’ do somethin’ nice_.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Ever.

Because he’d forgotten to reserve a seat, Atsumu had to wait in line to get on the train. Something else ‘Samu woulda chided him for, but as there was only him, it didn’t matter, and this way he wouldn’t be stuck in a seat next to some scrub family or hoity-toity businessman who’d hate to be sat next to someone like him. And it wasn’t that busy, so when he got on, he had a free seat next to him, use of a table to himself, and plenty of room to stretch his legs. And with an ice-cold can of beer from the trolley, and a station bento box, he was more than set for the journey ahead.

“Who needs company?” he muttered. “Specially not a scrub brother ruinin’ my fun.” Pulling the ring on the beer, he took a swallow, letting it fizz down his throat, then let out a contented sigh. “Tokyo, here I come!”

***

Osamu stared at the ingredients in his fridge and gave a kind of mournful huff. None of it would go to waste, but it hadn’t been cheap buying that particular type of fatty tuna, and the matcha tea powder had been a special order rather than something he bought at a discount.

He had the evening free now. He could relax at home, do nothing, or maybe go out, grab a beer at a bar, maybe even see if any of his friends fancied meeting up.

But then, Rintarou weren’t exactly local now he’d signed for JPT, ‘Toshi had gone away on a course, and being in a business that worked unsocial hours, meant no one was available now he had a rare evening off. He could go into work, but then he’d look as if he were a complete saddo with no life, or as if he didn’t trust his staff.

He picked up his phone, wondering whether to call Atsumu, and then saw a call he’d missed from earlier and dialled the number.

“Kita-san?” he said. “It’s ‘Samu. You wanted me?”

“Hmm,” Kita replied, his voice faintly amused but heightened with a sense of excitement. “I have a bottle of saké for you.”

“Oooooh.” For a moment his curiosity drove his problems away, and he hitched himself onto his table, ready to listen. “From your rice, right?”

“Michinari delivered it this afternoon. I’ll keep it here until you have some free time. I expect you’re busy now.”

“Not ‘specially. Took the evenin’ off.”

“And I’m interrupting your plans. I apologise,” Kita replied. “Is it for tomorrow?”

“Nope.” He refused to elaborate, instead asking, “Could I drive up now?”

“Of course. Granny will love to see you. We can taste test Michinari’s saké”

“I better get the bus then,” he chuckled.

“You can stay over. Bring Atsumu, too.”

“Uh… he’s … uh … busy. I’ll come by myself.”

“See you soon,” Kita replied, a little slowly, and Osamu knew he was playing back the conversation in his head and scrutinising every word.

Hanging up, he strode to his bedroom. Annoyingly he couldn’t find his clean pyjamas, so found an old pair instead, and chucked it in a bag along with his wash bag.

“Yer not the only one with plans, scrub,” he muttered as he locked up, and with a nonchalant whistle he headed for the bus stop.

***

The hotel in Tokyo was comfortable. Not high end, but fine for two nights. Checking in at the late hour, Atsumu was greeted politely by the receptionist, who gave him a smile as soon as he told her who he was.

“Miya-san, I have a message for you,” she said, and handed him a folded letter with his card key. “Um… is your friend running late? I do have a key for them, but the night staff are about to take over.”

“Friend?” He scowled. “Naw, it was my brother. He can’t make it.”

“Ah…” Her smile didn’t falter although it wobbled a little at the corners. “Have a lovely stay, Miya-san!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, giving her a small bow in return and then heading for the lift.

The message was from the ad agency, confirming details for tomorrow. It wasn’t a done deal; it was more of a firming up of the commitment on both sides. Atsumu would take some test photos, talk to camera and try the product. The campaign had the potential to make him a household name all over Japan, and it wasn’t a lot of work, so could be slotted in around games and practice.

And the money wasn’t to be sniffed at either.

Kicking off his shoes, he had a shower, debating whether to go out. But he was tired and decided instead to order room service. Tomorrow he could hit the town. Maybe he could even get in touch with Bokuto and see if he’d show him the best places to eat.

_But it ain’t like I gotta do that._ _I c’n cope without ya, ‘Samu. I like my own company and don’t need entertainin’ the whole time. Not even fer tomorrow._

He turned the shower down, a blast of cold water driving every thought from his head, then grabbed a towel and rubbed himself dry. Wearing the hotel bathrobe, he smiled charmingly when the waiter arrived, and grabbed a pen to sign not only the chit, but any autograph the guy might want.

But the waiter merely trundled his food into the room, and even though he watched as Atsumu signed for the meal (using his flashy new signature) he left without asking him for a thing.

_Don’t any of you morons watch volleyball?_

With another beer and tucking into a bowl of udon, Atsumu settled back on his bed. He switched on the television, and found some volleyball from the foreign leagues. Yaku Morisuke was playing and he perked up watching as the Libero dealt with Russian serves, turning the most fierce bullets into puffs of cotton wool. And as he watched, he pondered, not for the first time, playing abroad. He’d never seriously considered it, partly because he loved the Jackals and couldn’t believe there was a club better suited for him, but settling in somewhere else, leaving everything behind … he buried the shudder and focused instead on the Russian Setter who’d just made a pig’s ear of a dump shot.

_Scrub! I could do better than that!_

Maybe it was time to broaden his horizons and focus on his future alone. _Who needs memories? And who needs ungrateful brothers holdin’ ‘em back?_

_Wonder if Russian’s easy t’ learn?_

Feeling drowsy, he got under the covers and turned out the bedside light, but he kept the TV on, like he did at home when he was by himself, its noise covering up for the absence of other soundsin the room. If he woke up at three, it hardly mattered as he didn’t have an early start in the morning.

_A lie-in on my birthday. Beats a wet sponge in the face and bein’ dragged outta bed t’ go to school._

***

“Atsumu’s going to Tokyo?”

“Um, yeah, I guess he’ll be there by now, Obāsan.”

“Why?” Kita’s grandma asked. “Is he signing for another team? Shinsuke, you didn’t tell me he was leaving!”

“No,” Osamu reassured her. “He ain’t signin’ for anyone else. He’s gonna be starrin’ in an advert for somethin’.”

“Ohhhhhh. He’s going to be famous!” She sipped at her saké, smacking her lips together as she savoured the taste. “Will he like that do you think, Shin-chan?”

“I think Atsumu would rather be known fer his volleyball,” Kita replied, and poured more saké into Osamu’s glass. “But this is part and parcel of it, I guess. What’s he advertising?”

Osamu shrugged. “Somethin’ crappity,” he mumbled.

“Sports clothes? That would be good. He’s a handsome boy!”

“He is, Obāsan.” Kita held out the bottle to her, but she shook her head.

“I need to sleep,” she replied, getting to her feet. She gave them a bow, patting Kita on the head and flashing Osamu her twinkling smile. “Thank you very much for bringing us your onigiri, Osamu-chan. It was a treat to taste your new flavours.”

“I’ll never be as good as you,” he replied with sincerity.

“You’re a sweet boy,” she said, and then with another smile she tripped out of the room, leaving Osamu with Kita and the rest of the saké bottle.

“What do you think of this?” Kita asked, holding his glass to the light. “He doesn’t use a carbon filter, so it’s more flavoursome, he tells me.”

“Good kick to it, and really clear,” Osamu said after a sip. “Akagi-san should do well with this batch.”

“Mmm, I think he’s found his niche. There’s a bottle fer you, by the way, and another for Atsumu.”

“Oh … thank you.”

“It’s Michinari you should thank. He left ‘em for the pair of ya.”

“I’ll make sure t’ give him extra onigiri next time he calls in.”

“He’d ‘preciate that. Maybe see if Atsumu can spring him some tickets for a match.” Kita paused. “He is staying with the Jackals, then?”

“Uh… yeah, why wouldn’t he?”

“You’ve been a bit vague about this trip to Tokyo? I wondered, that’s all.”

“Oh…” he exhaled through his nose. “It’s a crappy food advert. Nothin’ as cool as clothes. An’ he got mad cuz I said I wouldn’t go with him. I mean, why would I wanna go an’ watch him puttin’ make up on to eat noodles? It ain’t like I’ve got nothin’ to do. I’ve been workin’ twenty-five hours a day and he wants me to waste whatever free time I c’n scrape together to watch him preenin’ himself for the cameras!”

“Oh … kay.” Kita leant forwards, removing Osamu’s glass from his hand. “How long have you been bottling that up for?”

“He jus’ makes me so mad! Never listens.”

“Mmm, you know that, though.”

“An’ flashin’ his money around, sayin’ we’ll get the Shinkansen an’ stay in Tokyo,” he continued, unperturbed. “Like… I have a business to run, an’ all my money’s tied up in that right now!”

“And you explained this to him?”

He shrugged. “I tried. He wouldn’t listen. Got all defensive about the advert. Thought I was laughin’ at him.”

“And you weren’t,” Kita stated, unblinking.

“No, I was too mad at him!” Retrieving his glass, he gulped at the saké, felt it sear the back of his throat and spluttered until Kita got up and thumped him on the back.

“Don’t waste Michinari’s saké, Osamu-kun, he’ll never forgive you,” he teased. “Why were you mad?”

“No reason.”

“Hmm, must have been a reason. Was it the commercial, or the assumption you’d follow him?”

“Maybe both,” he muttered, trying but failing not to sound sulky.

“Why do you think he wanted ya there, Osamu?”

“So he could show off, _obviously!_ ”

“We-ell, there is that, but maybe there’s another couple o’ reasons.”

“Company, you mean.” He shrugged aware he looked sheepish. “I guess. He don’t like bein’ alone. Never has.”

“Company, moral support, call it what you will,” Kita replied. “But also …” Tilting his head to the side, he fixed Osamu with his headlight beam of an interrogatory stare. “Osamu, have the pair of ya ever celebrated yer birthday apart?”

“It ain’t my fault!”

“I didn’t say it was, but d'ya think it’s possible that’s why Atsumu wanted ya with him?”

*** 

Atsumu went for an early run, took breakfast at the hotel and then with a cheery wave at the receptionist left to meet the ad agency. There’d been some email contact and few phone calls, but this was the first time he’d met any of them face-to-face.

“Behave,” his agent had told him. “They won’t mind a bit of ‘character’ but whatever you do, don’t insult the product—even as a joke.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t say it’s gross, Atsumu, even if you mean it’s great. Not everyone gets your sense of humour.”

_I can do tactful and unfunny,_ he thought as he entered the building. _I’ll channel Oomimi-san._ Then he laughed and thought about sipping tea with his pinkie crooked.

An hour later, sitting in the make-up room, getting a powder puff in his face, and he knew his senpais would have been proud of him for his restraint. He was so restrained and patient they probably wouldn’t have recognised him as he bit his tongue with every sigh and barb that came his way.

“Ow! What was that for?” 

He’d thought the make-up artist was an angel with her cute hair clips and sweet smile, but the smirk on her face now was anything but sweet.

“That’s the eyebrow wax, Atsumu-san. Can’t have them meeting in the middle. Not for television. I did tell you I was doing it.”

“HUH!” He glowered at his reflection, seeing a patch of red just above the bridge of his nose. “I thought it was like hair wax.”

She laughed a little, and pulled her mouth into a mope. “Beauty is pain. Now …” Staring at him in the mirror, she rotated his chair so he was side on. “Oh … hmmm … that might be an issue,” she murmured, and reaching across to her make-up box she pulled out a brush and a compact. “Two shades darker should do it.”

“What? Hey!” He squirmed and then sneezed. “I’b sorry. Yer brush is tickly.”

“That’s fine,” she snapped. “I have another.”

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed the seat back into position so he was facing the mirror. “Some people have the most _divine_ profiles, but you look better face on.”

“What the f— what’s wrong with my profile?”

“You have rather a prominent chin,” she said irritably, making a show of throwing the brush in the bin. “I was trying to make it look better.”

“Promi-what now?”

“Sticky-out chin,” she explained, slowly as if talking to a child. “Your nose is a little scrunched up too, but we can balance that with your hair,” she said, and began teasing his fringe into a point.

“Uh… I wear it t’ the side.”

“This is more you, I feel. Or to the other side, perhaps.”

“That ain’t me. It’s my brother,” he said, trying to smile away his growing irritation. He swept his hair to _his_ side “And in the middle is too much like Kita-san, so no thank you.”

“Oh…” She turned her back and pulled out another make-up brush, then with a resigned sigh continued to brush powder under his chin. “Well, I’ll do my best.”

His phone beeped.

**< <Happy Birthday>>**

Huh, Rintarou?

**< <Ooops, wrong one.>>**

**_< <Wow thanx>>_ **

**< <Are you with Osamu? He’s not answering his phone.>> **

**_< <No.>>_ **

**< <When you see him, tell him to call me, will you?>>**

**_< <Sure.>>_ **

**< <What are you doing today? Osamu told me he had the day off. How did you swing that?>>**

Huh?

**< <He’s such a workaholic these days. Not like when he tried to skive off practice>>**

Day off? _He said he had to work._

He stared at the message, not even noticing the make-up artist was approaching with a pair of tweezers.

_That’s why he wouldn’t come to Tokyo_. _Or said he couldn’t._

“Hey, head up. Look at me.”

“Uh… what?”

“Just a little bit of highlighter on those cheekbones and then we’re done,” she said. “There!”

The man staring back wasn’t him. Too glossy. Too smooth. _Great lookin’, though._ He scowled at his reflection, wondering the malleable putty of his face would slip back into place, or would the make-up hold it a fraction longer.

Gin had sent a birthday message as had Aran-san and Oomimi. Akagi’s text was a little cryptic, telling him not to enjoy it too much. _Enjoy what?_

There was nothing from Kita.

Or ‘Samu.

_Am I gonna be the better twin here?_ he thought. But since when had they texted each other birthday greetings. They’d always been together. And it was ‘Samu’s fault he weren’t here now!

But there’d been something else about ‘Samu this year. Telling Atsumu not to go mad on presents ‘We ain’t kids anymore, ‘Tsumu. Somethin’ small’s fine.’

***

Osamu woke with tiny men hammering at the inside of his skull, and someone hammering at the bedroom door. They weren’t actually hammering, it was a soft knock, but in his saké soaked state cotton wool would be too loud.

“Yeah,” he croaked.

Kita pushed open the door with his hip, and set a tray down on the desk in the corner. “I bring you a cup of green tea, some orange juice and … ta-da … “ He lifted a dome off a bowl to reveal a segmented grapefruit with a candle in the centre. “Happy Birthday, Osamu-kun!”

“Wow. A birthday grapefruit. Never had that before.” He wriggled to sit up in bed and grinned. “Thank you, Kita-san. What time is it?”

“Quarter past eleven.”

“Wow…” he let out a contented sigh. “I don’t think I’ve slept in like that fer months.”

“I thought you needed it. How’s the head?”

“Uh… it’s been better. How much did I drink?”

“Enough!” He fished something out of his pocket. “Here’s your phone. It’s been buzzin’ all mornin’.”

He smiled a little, reading the stream of messages from his former teammates and also his staff.

“Akagi-san asks how my head is,” he told Kita as e typed out a ‘sore but worth it’ reply.

He’d missed a call from Suna, which he couldn’t exactly return with Kita in the room, so he read the messages from the others, then sipped his tea while Kita sat at the desk and poured himself a cup too.

“I have to go into the city today,” Kita said. “Would you like me to drive you back?”

From anyone else, it would have sounded as if he were desperate to get rid of his house guest, but Osamu knew his former captain well enough to know it was directness.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“And I was planning to meet Aran tonight, if you’d like to join us.”

“That—” He was about to say it would be great, but just then his phone beeped, and his eyes automatically slid that way, watching as a name lit up the screen. “Uh… um… I’ll … I might have t’ work. Check on them anyway. So … uh…” He sniffed then dug into his grapefruit.

“Was that Atsumu?” Kita asked gently.

“Naw, it was Suna. Askin’ me if we’d had another fight.”

“Has he messaged you?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Kita stood up with his tea and headed for the door. “You could call him,” he suggested.

“Naw, he’ll be busy in his meetin’.”

“Text?”

He didn’t reply and Kita sighed. “The pair of you are so stubborn. Suspect that’s yer secret of success.”

“’Tsumu’s success,” Osamu muttered. “I ain’t there yet.”

“Success ain’t just a money thing, Osamu-kun.”

***

**< <Happy Birthday, Atsumu.>>**

**_< <Hey, Kita-san! Thank you!>>_ **

He was waiting for the screen test, a kind of ‘rehearsal for the real thing’ he’d been told. A matter of seeing what the director thought, checking Atsumu’s delivery of the script, and whether he could deliver the words whilst eating the product.

_(Don’t insult the product!_

_It’s food, why would I insult it?_

_Just be careful, okay. Be tactful!)_

**< <You’re in Tokyo>>**

He whiplashed back to the phone. _How’d he know that?_

**_< <’Samu tell u that?>>_ **

**< <Yes. He came over last night. I’m about to drive him back.>>**

**_< <ok>>_ **

“Atsumu, are you on Hyogo time?” the director drawled. “Only it appears to be an hour behind the rest of us.

Shoving his phone in his bag, he sauntered across the floor, flicking his hair to the side and avoiding the scowl of the stylist.

“Where d’ja want me?” he asked, playing nice.

Director-san (Atsumu never caught his name and everyone seemed terrified of him) was on the short side, with gelled back hair wire rimmed glasses and a crooked nose. “Stand on that cross and look at the camera,” he ordered.

“Sure. Want me t’ say somethin’. Crack a joke?”

“Please don’t. And don’t smile.”

He did as he was asked, shoving his hands in his pockets to add a bit of attitude, stared directly into the camera trough his fringe and treated them to his moodiest ‘don’t speak when I’m servin’’ stare.

“What’s that?”

“Uh… me not smilin’?” Atsumu offered.

“Well, you’ll put them off eating anything,” the director replied. “Look at the camera. No expression.”

“Uh… sure.”

“Now profile.”

“Um…” He turned to the side, but found the make-up artist’s words creeping into his brain and self-consciously tucked his chin in.

“Look ahead, not down,” came the order. “Hmm, yes, full face is better. Might be different when he’s eating. Do you have a script?”

“Uh… yeah,” He pulled it out of his back pocket.

“Well, read it then! We need to check voice levels.”

“’K … ‘When ya got powerful serve, ya need a powerful servin’ o’ power curry’.” He stared at the director. “Want me t’ carry on.”

“Is that your normal voice?”

“Huh? ‘Course.”

Director-san licked his lips, whispered something to his lanky assistant, who scurried over. “Miya-san,” he said, smiling and a little breathy, shoulders hunched as he leant forwards. “Okay, that was great, and you _look_ good on camera, but could you try modulating it a little? It’s a nationwide campaign and some people might not quite understand your … um … unique way of speaking.”

“Uh… okay. I c’n do that.”

“When ya… u … yew gotta powerful serve, yew, need a powerful servin’—“”

“SER _VING!”_ shouted the director.

“That’s what I said, di’n I?”

“No, you said _‘servin’.”_

“An’ people can’t understand that?” Atsumu blinked. “Uh… ya got it. Why wouldn’t anyone else?”

“Just say the word.”

“Servin’”

“SerVING!”

“Serrrrvinggah’!”

“No, there’s no ‘gah’, it’s serving ING! ING! ING!”

“Ain’t that what I said?” Atsumu smothered a smile, starting to enjoy himself because this was rather like winding up the opposition, then performing the sweetest dump. He coughed, stared straight at the camera and channelled his best Bokuto. “When you gotta powerful serve, you need a powerful servinggg of power curry.”

“See, you can do it.”

“I sound like shit, though,” he muttered under his breath, and grimaced.

“Sure ya don’t want the authentic Miya?” he asked. “Like, my fans know how I speak, so…” But he was talking to empty air, the others in the studio huddled around the playback tape.

The make-up artist approached, wielding her powder brush. “Just a touch up,” she said, dusting his chin.

“Is he always like that?” he muttered.

“Um…” She dropped her voice. “He thinks he should be directing blockbusters and not commercials. Don’t take it personally.”

He sighed and let her carry on. What a way to spend the day. He’d thought it’d be fun, and a lot more glamorous. “It’s my birthday today,” he said.

“That’s nice. Got plans?” she said, being polite because it certainly wasn’t an invitation.

“Not really. I was gonna go out with my brother. We’re twins.”

“Sweet!” she replied, but whether that was in reply to him or because she’d just finished touching up his make-up, he didn’t know.

“But I’m here, an’ he didn’t come with me.” He failed to keep a plaintive note out of his voice.

Standing back, she scrutinised her work, then gave Atsumu a soft smile. “Are you older or younger?”

“Older by four minutes. ‘Samu couldn’t bear t’ be parted from me,” he said and grinned. “Don’t believe him if he tells ya he wanted to stay where he was an’ only came out cuz I was yellin’ so much.”

“You sound close. That’s nice.”

“Uh… yeah, I guess we are.”

“So, what did you buy him?”

*** 

Arriving back at the city, Osamu first checked on the shop and his staff, then satisfied they were getting along fine without him, he went upstairs to his flat with Kita.

“Tea?” he offered. “An’, if you want anythin’ to eat, let me know. I got a ton of tuna t’ be used up. Take it back with ya if ya want?”

“I am a little hungry.”

“Then tuna onigiri comin’ up. Don’t mind waitin’ while I make it, do ya?”

“Watchin’ the master at work,” Kita replied. “Don’t mind if I do.” He pulled out his phone, checking his messages, then with the tiniest of frowns, he put it back in his pocket. “Were you plannin’ on making this for Atsumu?”

“Yeah, I was. That boy’d eat his own weight in fatty tuna. Only way I c’n get him to shut up.”

“You still could. Make a batch and take it round to his?”

“Why would I want t’ do that?”

“Welcome home present? Congratulations on landing a contract.”

“It ain’t a done deal!”

“A ‘hope ya were successful but never mind if ya weren’t because I’ve always got yer back’ gift.”

Osamu shrugged. “He won’t be hungry. He’ll have eaten too much of that power curry crap.”

“Ohhhh, that’s it then.”

“That’s what?”

“Yer mad at him cuz of what he’s advertising.”

“Have ya tasted that stuff? It’s gross. An’ I don’t mean that in a good way.”

“Then make him a batch o’ yer finest onigiri, so he knows what a mistake he’s made. You can rub his face in it for years,” Kita laughed. He got up and walked to the fridge. “Come on, I’ll help.”

“Why you doin’ this, Kita-san?”

“Because sometimes we do need memories, and I’d hate this to be your worst birthday, Osamu-kun. Right, how ‘bout I leave the onigiri to you, and I’ll fix ya both a puddin’?”

They worked fairly comfortably together, Osamu’s mood always softened when he moulded his onigiri, and he was smiling as he worked, especially knowing the tuna was just about the best he could have got and he knew, despite everything that ‘Tsumu would love it. _He might not ‘preciate the effort, mind, but he’ll still eat it._

Kita was busy whisking up a sponge, not telling Osamu exactly what he was making, but he’d added the matcha tea powder and had lined a shallow tray with silicon paper.

“Roll cake, huh?”

“Can’t fool a chef,” Kita replied. “It’s one of Obāsan’s recipes. She used to make it for my birthday.”

“Then it’ll be good!”

“We can but hope,” Kita said. “So, when we’ve done this, you c’n take it round to Atsumu’s.”

“Doncha have stuff t’ do, Kita-san?”

“I’ll do that after, then we can see what Aran’s up to.” He paused and started to pour the sponge mix into the tray. “If you want to, that is. I never thought to ask if you’d rather not.”

He swallowed, wondering why this felt like such a hard decision. The choice was clear, spend the evenin’ alone, or spend it with friends. But it was hard. He didn’t want to be by himself, but it felt odd going out.

_Without you._

“I’ll let ya know,” he mumbled, and pressed the rice so hard it squished between his fingers.

When the sponge had cooled and Kita had whipped up the cream and matcha filling, he rolled it deftly, then dusted some icing sugar across the top. “Right, Are we off to Atsumu’s?”

“Uh-huh, jus’ packin’ these in a box,” Osamu replied. “More than he deserves, ya know!”

“Hush. You love him really.” He twisted his head to read something Osamu was writing on top of the box. “’Might be a day late, but not t’ be eaten ‘til seven minutes past.’ What does that mean?”

“It ain’t our birthdays yet, not really. We have this thing ‘bout not wishin’ each other happy birthday, until it’s the actual time.” He finished the writing with his signature and two faces, one smiley and one grouchy. “D’ya think if I’d been the older twin, I’da been like ‘Tsumu.”

“You are like ‘Tsumu,” Kita laughed. “The only difference is that ya take a little more time to consider stuff, an’ ‘Tsumu ploughs on ahead. Not that much more time, though. What’s the difference between ya?”

“Four minutes.”

“Seven and eleven,” Kita mused. “Interesting.”

“Coincidence,” Osamu retorted.

“Hmm, maybe.”

Kita drove much as he did everything in life, with due care and attention and nothing flashy. Arriving at Atsumu’s flat, Osamu fished in his pocket for keys, and let them both in.

“Has he actually gone?” Kita said, hovering on the doormat. “Atsumu!”

Silence greeted them.

“Uh, yeah, why d’ya ask?”

Kita gestured with his head to the corner by the coat rack. “Because his case is still here. Look!”

Putting his carrier down, Osamu squinted at it. “That’s my case,” he muttered. He bent down and opened it. “Hey, no wonder I couldn’t find my pyjamas. He stole ‘em!”

“I don’t think he stole them, Osamu. More like he packed them.” His eyes moved to the side. “Look, there’s letter for you on the floor.”

Osamu moved to pick it up, then slit the envelope open with his finger. A document fell out onto his lap. He blinked at it and then his mouth gaped open. “It’s a ticket,” he whispered. “For the Shinkansen. From ‘Tsumu.”

“Oh.”

“The fuckin’ scrub bought me a ticket!”

“That’s … kind of him, Osamu, ain’t it?”

“He knew I couldn’t afford it!”

“But he could.” Kita crouched next to him. “Is this a pride thing, Osamu? Or part of a competition between the pair of ya.”

“I … I don’t know. It’s … odd. Like, I almost told him not to bother with a gift, ‘cuz I can’t afford much this year, an’ makin’ this stuff an’ getting time off was about the best I could do, but…” He swallowed down the hard lump forming in his throat. “It ain’t pride or envy. I’m pleased he’s doin’ well, but … why did he do this? Jus’ to rub my nose in it?”

“Perhaps,” Kita said slowly. “But maybe it’s because he didn’t want to spend his birthday without you.”

He stared at the ticket, then stood up straight grabbing the case, the onigiri and the cake. “Kita-san, I know yer busy, but c’n I ask ya one last favour.”

“Lift to the station?” Kita asked, his lips twitching.

“Got it in one!”

***

“Right, Atsumu, now you’ve managed to speak coherently,” the director drawled, “we shall try it with the product. All you need to do is hold the bowl, say the first part of your line, then take a mouthful just before you say ‘power curry’. Okay?”

“Won’t that look kinda messy?”

“We can edit it,” he replied. “What’s important is to see you eating the curry and enjoying it. You got that?”

“Sure. Food. Eat. Enjoy. It ain’t rocket science.”

“No, or we’d have asked someone smart,” he thought he heard the director say. “Right, where’s the curry? Someone give Miya the curry! And make sure it looks good, with the right colour for the camera.”

Jeez, this was annoying. What was so hard about dishin’ up a bowl o’ curry? ‘Samu did it all the time. An’ it always looked good. His mouth began to water thinking about it, and his stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry,” he told the runner handing him the bowl.

“That’s … um … good.” The runner bowed and backed away.

“Okay, Miya, in your own time. Maybe inhale before you taste. Make it seem as though you’re really happy to be eating this.”

“When ya got a powerful serve—”

“Cut! Watch the accent, Miya! And it should be you’ve got not you gotta.”

“Sure, sorry.” He gritted his teeth, the irritation mounting again. “When yew’ve got a powerful serve, you need a powerful servinggg of…” He paused dramatically, inhaled and then dug in with his chopsticks, scooping the noodles and curry into his mouth. “…Pow—ughhhh curry.”

“Pow _er_ curry, Miya. Power! It’s the name of the brand.

“No, I mean ‘ughh’! It’s gross!” Atsumu spluttered. “Some water … _please_.”

“Is that one of your jokes?” the director asked, his gimlet eyes boring into Atsumu. “I’ve heard about your sense of humour.”

He took a breath, tried not to lose his cool totally, but the taste at the back of his throat was still overpowering his taste buds. _What the fuck am I doin’ here? This ain’t fer me._

“Naw,” he said, “it ain’t one of my jokes. I was told not t’ make any. Jus’ as I was told my chin was too sticky-out, my hair weren’t ‘me’, the way I talk’s wrong an’ that I shouldn’t smile or glare or pull any facial expressions.” He put the bowl on the floor, then stared straight at the camera. “Power Curry is gross. You want proper food, then come to Hyogo an’ go t’ Miya Onigiri.”

“You can’t say that!” the director raged. “If you want to endorse Power Curry then you have to be one hundred percent behind the brand. You’ll need to eat it on a regular basis.”

“Yeah, I been thinkin’ ‘bout that, and … I don’t think so. Get someone else,” Atsumu replied. He sauntered across to the corner of the room, picked up his bag and checked his phone, reading a message sent an hour ago.

**< <Even if you’re not together, you could at least send him a message>> **

“Yer right, Kita-san. I should wish my brother a happy birthday an’ I need t’ do that in person.”

***

“So, he might have joined us, I really have no idea what he would’ve decided, but then on seein’ the ticket and realisin’ Atsumu had bought it fer him, Osamu took off. Train leaves in fifteen minutes. Should be there in four hours.”

Aran shook his head, still chuckling over Kita’s telling of the tale. “They’re a pair, ain’t they? If Atsumu had jus’ told Osamu he’d bought him a ticket…”

“I’m guessin’ he wanted it t’ be a surprise. But, also, Osamu was put out he’s gonna be advertisin’ that curry. You know what he’s like ‘bout his food.”

“Did Osamu tell him that? Tho’ that prob’ly woulda made Atsumu all the more determined to land the job.”

“You think so?” Kita helped himself to a sushi roll, placing it on his plate before finishing his thought. “They might fight like mad, but they’re immensely loyal. I don’t think it even occurred to Atsumu that Osamu would look on it as a betrayal. Probably thought Osamu was pissed cuz he was successful.”

“Maybe.” He sipped his beer. “I’m kinda glad he ain’t here. Don’t get me wrong, they don’t wind me up nearly as much as they used to, and apart they’re both much more bearable.”

“You love ‘em really,” Kita chided.

“Wouldn’t go that far, but it’s usually entertainin’ when they tag along. This evenin’ though, I don’t think I coulda put up with Osamu mopin’. I kinda want to relax.”

“Mmm, me too. Something struck me today, though.”

“There’s a faraway look in yer eye, Shinsuke.”

“Remember the end of our second year, jus’ before the shirts were distributed.”

“Vaguely.”

“Kurosu-san hesitated when handing out the shirts to the second years.”

“How d’you remember all this? You were too busy cryin’,” Aran teased, then relented. “Yeah, I do kinda remember because he was lookin’ at Osamu, then looked back to the list and handed over the ten shirt to Suna.”

“I didn’t imagine it, then.”

“What ya getting’ at?”

“I think someone switched the names round and Osamu was s’posed t’ be ten.”

“Who and why?” Aran demanded.

“It’s only a theory, but Atsumu and …” He gave a smile. “At heart he’s very sentimental.”

“Yer makin’ no sense, Shinsuke.”

Kita let out a contented sigh, then rolled his eyes as his phone rang. “Oh… talk of the devil.”

“What the heck does he want?” Aran grumbled.

“Atsumu-kun?”

“Kita-san. Is my brother with ya?”

“No,” Kita winked at Aran, “Osamu ain’t with me. How’s Tokyo? How did the screen test go?”

“Ugh, it sucked big time. Power curry is crap. So I’m comin’ home.”

“WHAT?!”

“What’s up,” Aran hissed.

“Atsumu, you can’t come home!” Kita replied, his voice rising. “Stay in Tokyo. Enjoy the break.”

“Naw, too late. I’m on the train now. Slow one, unfortunately, but should get back in time t’ wish my scrub of a brother a happy birthday in person. Don’t tell him, will ya! Byeee!”

“Atsumu! Damn he’s hung up.”

Aran began to chuckle, then it developed into a laugh coming from his belly. “They’re travellin’ to see each other. They’ll pass each other. This is … this is … Word, they’re still entertainin’ us.” He started to wheeze and clutched his sides. “Don’t look at me like that, Shinsuke. It’s funny. Ya gotta hand it to ‘em, their timin’s impeccable.”

Kita blinked. “You’re right. They’ll pass each other. Atsumu’s just left Tokyo. Find me the train timetable. “

“Huh?”

“From Tokyo to Osaka. I’ll look at Osamu’s train. Two hours … where will they pass each other?”

“Uh… oh … okay, I get it.” Aran flicked his phone on to study the timetable. “Uh, mid-point is Hamamatsu.”

Kita studied the map and both routes, then exhaled. “Right, then that’s where they need to meet.” He flicked back to his messages.

“What are you gonna do?” Aran asked.

“Tell them both to get off the train at Hamamatsu, of course.”

“Uh … you think they will? They’re both intent on seein’ each other.”

“True…”” He furrowed his brow as he thought. “Oh, I know.” He smiled. “They won’t be able t’ say no.”

“Want a beer?” Aran asked. “Come on, you can stay at mine overnight if you want.”

“Ya think I’m going anywhere without seein’ how this plays out.”

***

As the train approached Hamamatsu, Osamu reached for his case, checked his phone again in case there’d been any messages at all, sighed and then scanned the view outside the window. It was getting dark, but the lights at the station gave him some visibility, and besides he’d recognise Kita’s Granny anywhere. It wasn’t a problem meeting her and ensuring she got on the correct train. Least he could do for his senpai and for her who’d taught him so much and was so welcoming. It might make him a little late for meeting Atsumu, but then as his brother didn’t know he was heading to Tokyo, what did the delay of another hour matter?

The train came to a halt. Osamu got off.

***

As the train approached Hamamatsu, Atsumu reached for his case, checked his phone again in case there’d been any messages at all, chuckled at the surprise he was gonna give Osamu, then scanned the view outside the window.

There was a shop just outside the station, Kita-san had said, from which he’d ordered something for his Granny and as Atsumu was on his way, could he possibly pick it up?

The train came to a halt. Atsumu got off.

As passengers embarked and disembarked, doors along the length of both trains slammed and the guards raised flags and blew their whistles. The electronic timetables showed the schedules of the next trains, and both twins took deep breaths as they contemplated their unplanned pit stop and next move.

The train heading to Tokyo moved first, and Osamu looked around the platform, wondering where Obāsan was.

It was odd, now he thought about it, that she was here anyway, because she’d not mentioned it the night before. But then maybe it had been an impulse.

_Oh … she’s going back to Osaka, so she’s outside or on the other platform. She won’t be here._

He waited for the train heading to Osaka to leave, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It started to move, and after one last quick look around him, he shuffled forward to focus his attention on the other platform.

***

WHAT THE—!

WHO THE—?

WHAT IS HE DOIN’ THERE?

***

It was like someone had stuck a big mirror in the middle of the track. Even the differing hair colour could be explained by the orange dimmed station lights. It was more than the same face, but identical expressions of disbelief, shock and sudden realisation slamming into unfiltered joy.

Atsumu gaped.

Osamu gawked.

“’SAMU!”

“’TSUMU!”

“WHAT THE FUCK!” they both cried, then slapping their heads, both said in unison. “KITA-SAN!”

Just then the station clock ticked over to the new minute: ‘seven minutes past six’ and Osamu with a big grin yelled. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIYA ATSUMU!”

And Atsumu cupped his hands around his mouth. “I’ll meet ya out the front in four minutes!” And picking up his case, he legged it across the platform and towards the bridge.

“FOUR MINUTES! ARE YOU SLOWIN’ DOWN, SCRUB!” Osamu shouted and began to run, only pulling his pace when he remembered what he was carrying. Walking a little more sedately, he couldn’t stop the grin plastering across his face… but then it struck him and the beam fled his face.

‘Tsumu was standing outside the station, a quirky smile on his mouth as he leant against a pillar. “What kept ya, scrub?”

“What are ya doin’ here?” Osamu demanded.

“There’s gratitude. Maybe I wanted t’ see my twin on his birthday.” His eyes flicked to the clock. Not quite time.

“Thought the commercial was gonna take all day! Yer supposed t’ be in Tokyo bein’ a big shot,” Osamu retorted.

“’Bout that…” Atsumu screwed up his nose. “Turns out I mighta rebranded Power Curry as Powughhhh Curry. It’s gross, ‘Samu, and that ain’t in a jokin’ way.”

“I coulda told ya that.”

“Then why didn’t ya?”

“Cuz who am I t’ stand in the way o’ yer dream,” Osamu began, making solemn puppy dog eyes, “to be the Power Curry King?”

“Yeah, I abdicated, and now …” With a whoop at the clock, he leapt at Osamu, flinging his arms around d him. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIYA OSAMU!”

“Watch the onigiri!” Osamu yelled. “And the cake. Kita-san made us cake!”

“Oooh.” He stopped crushing his brother and reverently took the bag carrying the precious cargo from him, peering inside. “Fatty tuna?” Atsumu asked, eyes round and hopeful.

“Of course.” Squeezing Atsumu’s hand, Osamu led him to a bench where they both sat. “I kinda … look, I’m sorry, money’s short this year, but next year when I’m more successful than ya, then I’ll make ya even more onigiri.”

“That’s all I want.” Atsumu sniffed. “And the cake?”

“Kita-san’s Obāsan’s matcha tea roll cake. Looks delicious, right?”

Atsumu nodded dumbly and sniffed a bit more. “Were ya comin’ to Tokyo?”

“Yeah, I found the ticket. Ya shoulda said.”

“Kinda wanted to treat ya. S’posed t’ be a surprise. But …” He thought back on his day, of the people he’d met, not all of them jerks, but not people he felt at home with.

Osamu nudged the box his way. “Tuck in. We’ve got an hour ‘til the next train, whichever way we go.”

“Tokyo ain’t all it’s cracked up t’ be,” Atsumu muttered darkly. “No decent onigiri fer one thing.” He bit into one, letting the moisture trickle out of his lips. “Gahh, this is so good.” Wiping his chin with his sleeve, he remembered something from the day. “Those Tokyo scrubs said I had a sticky-out chin. An’ I was better face on than in profile. Fuckin’ cheek, right?”

“Scrubs. What do they know about good looks,” Osamu replied and helped himself to an onigiri. He glanced up at the sky, at the stars beginning to glimmer and the moon watching over them. “This has certainly been a different birthday.”

“Not one we’ll forget,” Atsumu agreed. “So we takin’ the next train back to Osaka?”

“We could …” Osamu trailed off, looking around the city in front of them. “But, I ain’t been here before, so why don’t we stay for a while.”

“An’ there’s a beach,” Atsumu said. “I c’n hear the sea.”

“Then what are we waitin’ for?” Osamu replied and got to his feet. “Picnic on the beach and last one there has t’ jump in the sea!”

“No!” Atsumu grabbed his hand and pulled him back down. “First things first, a birthday photo.”

“Ya want a photo, really?”

“To send to Kita-san, yeah. He has set this up.” He grinned again. “And definitely one showin’ off our perfect profiles!”

It was later as they wandered back from the beach, sand in their shoes and brimful with onigiri, cake and memories, that Osamu took Atsumu’s arm. “Are ya really okay ‘bout not getting’ the curry commercial. Yer’ve kinda been splashin’ the cash recently.”

Atsumu shrugged. “Pfft, I couldn’t endorse that muck, an’ anyway, if I’m tied to them then I wouldn’t be able t’ sign fer anyone else, would I?”

“Someone else interested?”

“They might be. In a year or so I’m expectin’ a massive deal, nationwide campaign, all o’ that. An’ I’ll front it.” He squeezed Osamu’s arm. “I’ll be the face of Onigiri Miya instead. Yer welcome!”

Osamu fake scowled. “Why would I want someone with a sticky-out chin?”

“Hey!”

Laughing, Osamu pulled away and began to run. “Last one to the station eats PowUGHHH Curry!”

***

“All’s well that ends well,” Kita said, smiling with satisfaction as he showed Aran the photo Atsumu had sent. “We finally got ‘em to meet in the middle.”

“Dumbasses!” Aran replied, but there was a chuckle in his voice and he raised his glass. “Happy twenty-first birthday, moron twins!”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, Akagi brewing sake is my new thing.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that!


End file.
